


late night date night

by guardianoffun



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Kitchen Sex, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:49:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22685278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardianoffun/pseuds/guardianoffun
Summary: It's not like he was using his kitchen counters for anything else. Shirley's making a much more tempting offer, wrapped up in his shirt like that anyways. A different sort of midnight snack.
Relationships: Endeavour Morse/Shirley Trewlove
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	late night date night

**Author's Note:**

> i know we're all abt s7 rn but also i finished this recently and wanted to upload.. im love one shirley trewlove... still mostly set in a fwb land bc these two could never seriously date, but that aint gonna stop em bonking

Rain beat down on the window, hard enough to rattle the glass. Morse could barely hear it though, head buried in the pillows as it was. The night had brought with it a warm sort of comfort, or perhaps it was the company. Usually rain had a habit of keeping him up at night, but the comforting curl of Shirley Trewlove’s arm around his waist muffled it. The rest of her was around somewhere, wrapped in his sheets, but in his hazy, half-asleep blur, all he knew was her light touch. An elbow resting in the small of his back, fingers that traced gentle lines between his shoulders. 

If he strained his ears enough, he could just make out the sound of her gentle breaths against his back. The small, amused noise she would make every once in a while, as her nails drew another line down the path of his back. He wondered, for a moment, what she might be doing, but then the scotch and the sex and the whole damn week caught up with him, and he drifted off again. 

When his eyes next cracked open, it could have been hours later, or mere minutes. But Shirley’s arm now lay across his lower back, her hand making its way up and down his arm. Her face was closer, he could feel her at his neck, her chest pressed against his shoulder. This time, as she kept up her gentle touches, he twisted his head around ever so slightly. Unlike him, Shirley was wide awake, and she smiled, without looking at him. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice thick with sleep still. She shrugged.

“Nothing,” she said softly, leaning down to press a kiss to his shoulder. He didn’t believe her, and told her as much. Her fingers stopped for a second and she huffed with a fond kind of irritation. 

“Nosy bastard.” She tilted her head, and began her tracing once more. “You’re covered in freckles, you know?” Morse chuckled. 

“Curse of the redheads.” Not that there was a lot of red left, the dusty grey at his temples having long since spread. Shirley laughed at that, a gorgeous sound that filled the bed. It made Morse shift, roll over, shuffle his way a little closer. Her hand falls from his arm, rests instead on the side of his hip. His own hand finds its way to Shirley’s neck, up along her jaw to run a thumb across her bottom lip and pull her closer. He steals himself a kiss, swallows up the sly smile she has on. She laughs, but doesn’t say anything else.

The rain outside doubles its efforts, and there’s a crack of thunder, but it lost to the sound of Shirley as she slides closer, and becomes, for a while once again, his whole world. 

They stagger from the bed eventually, both too awake now for sleep. It’s not like there’s much to do, a whole week to themselves only just beginning. Morse pads off to the bathroom, Shirley to the kitchen, and by the time Morse returns, she’s stood staring out of the window, tea in hand as she leans against the counter top.

Something Morse has never grown tired of is the sight of Shirley wrapped up in  _ his _ things; his shirt, his pants, his bedsheets. She’s pulled on the shirt he had thrown off some hours earlier, more than Morse bothered with; he barely managed to pull on a pair of pants. Shirley was delightfully hidden away in the folds of the fabric, bunching about her waist and only just covering her arse. Without turning to him she called back softly to him.

“Coffee’s in, be a few minutes.” 

“Thanks,” he mumbled as he stretched, letting out a long groan as his shoulders protested. Sliding up behind Shirley, he dropped a tired head to her shoulders, arms absently finding their way around her waist. 

“Comin’ back to bed after, right?” He said against her shoulder. The shirt smelt like her, like she’d been sleeping in it. The thought made some part of him warm and fuzzy. Her shoulders shifted as she laughed to herself, then raised a hand blindly to pat at Morse’s cheek. 

“Is there any reason to?” she asked coyly, one finger catching a lock of his hair and tugging gently. He pressed into her more, nudged her rear with his hips and nipped at her ear. 

“I could find a few,” he purred, tongue following the curve of her ear. She shivered as his fingers slowly found their way under the shirt, dragging along soft, sensitive skin with the most gentle of touches. They knew each other, each others bodies, so well he knew exactly how best to have her gasping right there against the counter. He pushed the collar of the shirt down with his nose and kissed the back of her neck, let his knuckles trace up her ribs beneath the shirt. Her breathing trembled as his fingers found her chest, so she pushed the tea down and with quick fingers unbuttoned it.

“Oh, thank you,” he said against her shoulder, taking the opportunity to push aside the shirt, and let it fall to her elbows. He nudges her with his knee, presses her against the counter so he can slide one leg between her thighs. She honest-to-goodness giggles then, as she leans herself across the counter.

“I’m fine staying here, don’t know about you,” she said, and he could practically hear the smile in her voice. He lowered one hand back down to cup her arse, the other staying quiet occupied with her breasts. He swiped a thumb across her nipple, listening for the quiet breath she took, watched as she arched her back and pressed into his touch. It was criminal he couldn’t see her face, but he could imagine well enough the way she bites at her lip, eyelids fluttering as he mapped out every curve of her body. 

“You’re lovely,” he said softly, marvelling at the way her skin looked in the low light that bled in from the streetlamps. It gave her a warm, golden glow, turned the curl of her hair blonder still, till it was almost white gold. “Lovely,” he said again, this time as he pulled his hands away. She made an offended noise for a moment, before he tapped her hips, inviting her to turn around. 

The sight of her, pink cheeks and toothy grin, already breathing a little harder, nearly wrecks him. As he pushed forward again for a kiss, she stretched her arms around his neck. They moved silently, together, to tangle themselves so Shirley’s legs could wrap around his middle, and his hands found the back of her thighs. She laughed at him as he wobbled slightly, not so young as he used to be, and had to deposit her on the counter. At least it gave him the chance to run his hands along her legs, squeezing and pinching along the inside of her thighs, up into the space between her legs. 

He curled a finger and drew out a sigh, long and sweet like music to his ears. It made him hungry for something he’s wasn’t going to find in the fridge. 

Shirley’s arms held him tighter, closer, until he was stuck quite firmly between her legs, just enough space between them for Morse to slip his fingers inside her. She pressed back, helped Morse to find the parts that had her unravelling before him. She breathed his name, over and over as he worked his fingers inside her. He laughed, teasing, like he wasn't already grinding his hips against the hard edge of the counter in search of the pressure, desperate for more. She grabbed him by the chin, one hand half buried in his hair and moaned his name through kisses. 

Like the brilliant detective she was, she clocked his rhythmic movements, and pulled back from the kiss with swollen lips to push his briefs down hastily. 

“You’re not using this kitchen for anything else, come on,” she huffed out. Her hand found his chest as she lowered herself off the kitchen top and onto him and she grabbed at his shoulders. With Shirley holding on, he could release his hold on her, hold himself up against the counter as he fucked her. He chased her mouth for more, needing to find her, have her, in every way he could. She was warm and sweet and when they kissed, there was tea on her lips. But it wasn’t enough, he wanted  _ more _ . If he had one fault it was his selfish nature. 

He lifted a hand and ran it up her stomach, marvelling at the way her chest trembled as she moved, at the curve of her neck as she threw her head back. He leant forward and sucked at it, at her collarbone, along her shoulder. He trailed his tongue down her chest, lavished her breasts with the attention they deserved. She laughed when he did that, fucked her with his head buried in them. 

“God you’re a perv, Morse,” she pulled on his hair, making his scalp tingle. His words, his retort if he had one, were muffled by her skin, and she laughed again at that. The sound of it was like music, better Morse thought, that any opera had power to be. She pulled him closer, held him tighter, pressed herself into them as they peaked. She was everything beautiful and light as his world shattered in the most wonderful explosion of bliss.

Her head collapsed against his shoulder as he staggered to a stop, knees weak and breath stolen for a moment. He came to his senses to find her fingers tracing patterns across his shoulders again, and it was his turn to laugh. Eventually he figured he could stand under his own power, and they managed to disentangle themselves. Shirley’s feet hit the floor, and for a moment it looked as though she might fall, so Morse did the chivalrous thing and swiped her up into his arms, sending her into a fit of laughter. He grinned at her as he carried her back towards his bedroom, drinks long forgotten as he dropped her onto the sheets and fell into the space beside her. Before he had even let his head hit the pillow, Shirley slid into the space beside him, so she could curl into his chest. Her head rested in his arm, his nose buried in her hair, they spent the next half hour or so just wrapped in each other, smiling slowly as the night slipped past them and the finally fell back to sleep. 


End file.
